


Mania

by Angel_of_Mysteries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sentient Reflections, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_of_Mysteries/pseuds/Angel_of_Mysteries
Summary: Harry and Tom have been together for two years, and Harry’s finally ready to take their relationship to the next level. Little does he know, so is Tom.





	Mania

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katsitting (Nekositting)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/gifts).



> This has been a long time in the works, and I'd just like to apologize for that. So... Happy Valentines Day instead Lena? I'd like to give my biggest thanks to Nani and Alex for betaing this and helping and inspiring me every step of the way with this fic, and the fic that will _actually_ be your Christmas gift, Lena. That's a story for another time though ;)

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Harry began, his tone wavered only slightly as he spoke. "It seems I have known you for forever, and you adamantly suggested that I would regret it, yet I never have. You have always been my closest friend, and I your willing confidante. We have been there for each other through thick and thin. In the two years we've pursued a more intimate relationship, I've come to realize that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"

There was a pause as his reflection took him in, his earnest expression being met with a cocked hip, a raised brow, “You could use some more practice,” it told him.

"It's a work in progress," he muttered, running a hand through his ever-messy hair.

His reflection rolled its eyes and pretended to look at a watch. "You've been at this for... how long now?"

"I'm just nervous," Harry said. "It'll be better later."

He scrutinized his appearance one last time, taking a moment to smooth his hair down and finish buttoning his shirt.

"You've spent the past week practicing," was the last thing Harry's reflection said before he turned away. "Are you sure it'll be enough?"

"It will have to be," Harry muttered, half to himself as he grabbed his traveling cloak from where it was hanging haphazardly over a chair.

After checking one last time to make sure he still had the small box he'd purchased from the jewelry shop in muggle London, he grabbed Tom's present and disapparated.

 

 

"Happy new year, Tom."

Harry set the present down on the table, careful to not mention that it was Tom's birthday. Tom hated the acknowledgment of it, and he knew better than anyone the dark, bitter memories Tom associated with it. Ignoring the scathing glare Tom sent his way anyway, Harry casually shrugged off his cloak and hung it over his chair, mindful of the much smaller gift hidden away in one of the pockets.

"Harry." Tom's greeting was curt, if not a little cold. "I thought I told you I didn't want anything."

"I know." Harry smiled sheepishly and kissed Tom on the cheek as he passed by him on his way to the kitchen. "But I saw it and thought of you. I couldn't just _not_ get it."

"You say that every time you come back from a shopping trip."

Harry was already in the kitchen, and he was pretty sure that Tom was rolling his eyes and scowling. He did that an awful lot when he was trying to hide the fact that something was making him happy.

Despite dinner being set out on the top of the counter, heated with a warming charm, Harry knew he hadn't kept Tom waiting for long. In the time they had been together, their dinner routine had yet to change.

With a flick of his wand, he sent the pasta dish Tom had prepared out to the dining room, and grabbed a couple of plates from the cabinet above the sink, before grabbing some silverware and making his own retreat to the dining room.

"I'll have you know, I'm not impressed," Tom informed him as he walked in.

"Would it be better if I apologized?" Harry asked, giving Tom a cheeky smile.

Tom crossed his arms and glowered. "No, because you wouldn't actually mean it."

Anyone who didn't know Tom as well as he did—which was everyone—would see more malice than there actually was, but Harry wasn’t fazed. His bluster was one of the things he adored about Tom.

They settled down to dinner, making small talk about their respective days. Tom told Harry about the coworkers he had to deal with, the little things about them that annoyed him to no end, and in return Harry told Tom about the ongoing case he was investigating with the rest of the auror division.

"If I'm being perfectly honest, it's gotten a little bit out hand," Harry said between bites. "Draco and I were handling the case fine on our own, but Scrimgeour says he doesn't want to take any chances after what happened to the last pair of detectives that were on the case."

"Oh?" Tom did his best to sound disinterested, but the way his eyes lit up told Harry that his attention had successfully been piqued. "That was quite some time ago, wasn't it? What happened to them, exactly?”

Harry shuddered. "A variation on what happened to all of Voldemort's _other_ victims. The symbol was carved into their chests—while they were still alive, mind you. Davies was gutted, and Travers was strung up to look like a puppet. That doesn't sound bad, but it definitely wasn't pretty to look at."

Tom hummed noncommittally. There was silence for a few moments as Harry watched him eat, knowing that Tom had an opinion he wanted to input. Surely enough, he finally spoke.

"Has any motive been found?" he asked slowly. "This... _Voldemort..._ do they have any apparent reason for killing? Is it possible that this is something they do merely for fun?"

"They?" Harry asked, the use of the word startling him momentarily. "You think there's more than one person in on this then?"

"Not necessarily. You've yet to identify if it is male or female, and it would be an insult to assign a gender to an unknown face.”

Harry nodded. "Point," he conceded. "From what any of us can tell, there isn’t a clear motive to the killings. The only thing linking them together is Voldemort's signature."

"The skull with the snake?"

At Harry's nod, Tom hummed again.

"Why the name _Voldemort?"_ he asked. "Is it something the killer gave themselves, or did you assign it? And if it was the auror division, then why?"

"It was the killer," Harry replied. "They left a letter, once. You remember the one I showed you?"

Tom shook his head.  "I would hardly call that a letter," he said. "And seeing as how it was the only one, I am forced  to wonder if your serial killer and the one that left the note are even the same people. Voldemort seems the type to ensure that they’re acknowledged for their crimes. The whole thing seems very performative, after all."

Harry paused, his fork raised halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he lowered it. "I...didn't even think of that," he said, his voice sounding far off and hollow. "I never considered the possibility that there was more than one killer."

"There might not be. At least, not in the sense you're thinking of." Tom took a sip of wine and gave Harry a smile that had always looked simultaneously sweet and wicked. "There's always the chance that you could be dealing with two people that _aren't_ in the same league—a copycat killer, that could be trying to take the credit for the murders the original has done."

"Wouldn't the original just kill them, then?" Harry asked. "If they wanted the credit themself?"

"Maybe they haven’t caught the copycat yet, or they may want to play with the auror corps," Tom said. "On the one hand, while it is very well likely an insult to the original killer, they would also have the small comfort of knowing that there’s leverage—there's more than one trail for you to follow, Harry, more than one possible lead for each of the murders. It's easy for the original killer to cover their tracks if there's another one in the wings to muddle everything further."

"You've thought about this a lot," Harry said, his tone betraying curiosity.

"Of course I have." Tom tilted his head a little to the side, raising a delicate brow. "You're my partner for one, your cases are my cases, indirectly anyway. For another—"

"I'm sorry," Harry looked down at his plate guiltily. "I know they're supposed to be kept confidential, it's just—"

"For another," Tom continued as if he hadn't spoken, "every moment there's even a shred of the possibility of you being in danger, I think about it."

When Harry looked at him in surprise, Tom met his gaze evenly.

"I care about you, Harry, more than anyone else. In greater ways than I'd thought I was capable of. When you're working on a case, of _course_ I think about it,” Tom continued. “Figuring out the details, working my own way through them — is how I cope. If there's something you've missed, then I've caught it. And in turn, I can make _you_ think about it." At that, he gave Harry a sweet smile. "You don't need to apologize for sharing the details of your cases with me; it works best when we do it together like this. Two heads are better than one, after all."

"Oh," was all Harry said, his mind reeled with Tom’s revelation.

He wasn't quite sure how to process that. Tom had always seemed rather apathetic toward just about _everything,_ yet he cared enough about Harry to actually _worry_ for him, cared enough to have a vested interest in Harry's work.

As little as that might have said about any other couple, it said a lot about them.

While Harry ate, his mind drifted from the significance of Tom's confession (and the small box hidden away in his cloak pocket) to matters of the case itself.

Not only did Tom have a point about the possibility of the aurors dealing with more than one killer at hand, there was also every possibility that the killers wouldn't even be in league with each other, if the first killer even knew the identity of the second. In the event that the first killer _did_ know the identity of the second, though… _Voldemort_ keeping the copycat alive to cover their tracks became both a plausible and worrying conclusion.

Of course, Tom's assumptions also had a brighter side, too. In the event that there _was_ more than one killer, there was always the possibility that one of them would slip up sooner or later and reveal something that would give the aurors a solid lead.

"Even if your team doesn't know the motive, have you found any other patterns?" Tom asked, as they tidied up after supper. "Anything to do with the targets, perhaps? Maybe something in the time of the murders?"

"Well..." Harry paused in his task. "Hermione's been doing some research, and she thinks she might have found something."

"Right," Tom nodded. "I figured Weasley would tell her at least _something_ about the case, if not everything. Go on."

"She's noticed that most of the targets have been corrupt in some way," Harry said. "We should have noticed it sooner, but even with how solid it looks, it isn't. Still, even with what looks like another pattern, a possible motive, some of the kills are still entirely random."

Tom hummed. "Potentially, that could be the act of your second killer. Imitation is said to be the highest form of flattery. After figuring the first killer's motive—or observing the crimes where there is an absence of a motive—the second killer could be seeking to act in a way that they would find favorable to the original killer."

"It's unsettling how easily you can come to these conclusions," Harry said with a small laugh.

"I can read people," Tom pointed out. "When you grow up in the circumstances I did, you learn the inner workings of human psychology, the ways people think, very quickly."

"You'd make a good auror," Harry mused. "With that kind of thinking, it's no wonder you're always helping me solve cases."

"I've been told that I would be good at a lot of things," Tom said, glancing at Harry. "I happen to like my work as an Unspeakable.”

His lips curved slightly at the edges in an amused smile, one eyebrow arched as if in question. Even though his eyes were dark, they held a certain warmth to them. He’s irresistible to Harry when he’s like this.

"You’ve never said what it is you do exactly. What section do you work in again?" Harry teased.

"Unlike you, I know how to keep my work confidential," Tom replied in a deadpan. "I can tell you this much, since you already know a little about the workings of the department—my line of work focuses a lot on wands and wandlore."

Harry nodded, his expression brightening. Of all the different sectors of the Department of Mysteries, he'd always assumed that Tom would prefer the Chamber of Death over anything else, for its level of obscurity, morbidity,  and intrigue. To find out that he was instead spending his time with wands... it made Harry happy for reasons he couldn't easily explain.

They finished up in the dining room, and made quick work of the kitchen, before retreating to the living room; Harry with some treacle tart and Tom with a well-worn, dog-eared book.

They settled into their nightly routine, with Tom quietly reading in his spot of the couch. Harry curled up beside him and occasionally reading over his shoulder.

However, tonight differed from the others. There was a tenseness in the air, an anticipation that was almost tangible. For Harry, it was the thought of proposing that haunted him. Small shocks of stress stemmed from trying to find the right time to do so.

Although, when Harry thought about it, he concluded that _any_ time would be good, considering they didn't have anything planned for the future.

Maybe there _was_ a right time to propose to Tom, Harry thought suddenly, lifting his head from where it had been resting on Tom's shoulder. Tonight was New Years, and what better time than at the stroke of midnight?

Tom would appreciate it if Harry waited until it was officially after his birthday. Midnight would symbolize a new beginning, a fresh start.

The more Harry reflected on it, the more he became convinced. It only seemed right to wait.

"Is everything alright?" Tom asked, his soft voice breaking the silence. He didn't look up from his book, even when Harry didn't respond.

"Yeah," Harry finally replied, taking care to make his tone neutral. "I was just thinking."

A page turned. "About?"

Harry shifted, putting more of his weight on Tom and laying his head back down in the crook of Tom's shoulder. "Things," he said evasively. "You know, you never opened up the gift I got you."

Tom sighed, a quiet and almost unnoticed action. Unlike Harry, it didn't take him any effort to make his voice sound even and calm.

"I didn't want anything in the first place," he said.  "I'll open it in the morning, before I go to work."

"Alright," Harry said quietly. Then, he almost flinched  at how sullen he sounded.

He'd _known_ that Tom disliked gifts, knew _why_ he didn't like them, so he had no right to get upset when Tom rejected it for the time being.

_You're worried he'll reject the_ other _one,_ a small voice in the back of Harry's mind pointed out. _Not the proposal, no. You’re_ _worried he'll reject_ ** _you._**

He and Tom had been together for a long time, and though it had been almost more platonic than anything, Tom was _it_ for him. The thought that Tom might reject him was a terrifying one.

Harry didn't want to _begin_ to think about it.

Time passed slowly that night, or at least it felt like it. Every time Harry glanced at the clock on the wall, it seemed that only a few minutes would have passed. Finally around nine, Tom closed his book and set it on the small table beside the couch, forcing Harry's attention from the time.

"What are you doing?" he asked, straightening his posture.

Tom merely raised an eyebrow at him as he stood. "We both have to go in tomorrow. Holiday or no. I'm going to bed."

Harry scrambled to his feet. "But you're supposed to stay up until midnight." he protested, a note of panic inflecting his tone.

Tom said nothing for a long moment as he assessed the situation at hand. "You're up to something," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Whether it's for my birthday, or something else, I want no part of it. Tonight is just another night, and I see no reason to pretend otherwise. If you wish to celebrate, I'm sure your friends will be hosting a party for it."

His words stung enough that Harry flinched and recoiled away from him. "That's not—I wanted to spend tonight with you.”

Tom deflated. “ You know I dislike celebrating for any kind of reason on this day." His voice softened a little, “but I do appreciate the thought.”

"I know," Harry’s heart beat faster with the realization that if he were going to act, it would have to be then. "It's not that I want to celebrate, I'd rather spend the time with you."

Tom studied him for a long moment, a variety of expressions crossing over his face before he finally seemed to settle on one of puzzlement.

"You, Harry Potter, are a conundrum," he declared.

"Tom, I love you" Harry blurted out.

Tom froze in his tracks.

Harry reached into the pocket he'd transferred the ring to while they'd been cleaning and pulled it out before dropping to one knee. He looked up to Tom earnestly.

The speech he'd practiced earlier flew out of his mind as he rushed to say something— _anything_ — before Tom got the chance to give him that _look_ he used to give others when they'd beg for his company.

"I love you," he repeated. "And I can't fathom the idea of spending the rest of my life with anyone else. We've known each other since we were kids in school, and even though you warned me that you weren't very good company, I persisted, and never have I regretted a single second. Here we are, two years later, and I'm convinced that we were made for each other. Will you marry me, Tom?"

Silence.

A silence that seemed to stretch on forever, from seconds into minutes into hours. The longer Tom just stood there and stared with wide eyes and surprise blooming across his features, the more unsure Harry felt until he thought the fear of rejection was going to undo him.

Finally, Tom seemed to recover from the momentary shock; his expression softened as he reached a slightly trembling hand out to pick up the small velvet box the ring was encased in.

"Oh _Harry,"_ he murmured, the words leaving his lips in a rush of air. Tom looked first from the ring to Harry, then back at the ring again. "I... I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say yes right now," Harry said quickly, his heart beating quicker in anticipation. "I just—I thought that with it being the new year—"

"You don't need to say anything," Tom admonished, though his tone was gentle. "I was merely caught off guard. Of course I'll marry you."

Setting the ring down on the table, Tom reached out to take Harry's hand and pull him to his feet.

Their lips met in a kiss that was equal parts passion and need. It seared and stoked the fire running along Harry's veins. It was sudden, unexpected, but _oh_ how Harry loved it when Tom got impulsive, he _loved_ moments like these, the sort that turned into minutes turned into hours.

At some point, Harry registered that they weren't in the living room anymore. Somehow they'd stumbled into Tom's room and Harry's back was pressed against the cold wall. Tom's fingers were fumbling with the buttons of Harry's shirt and _need_ was replaced with _want.._

_"Tom,"_ he groaned breathlessly, throwing his head back against the wall when Tom shifted and rolled his his hips against Harry's.

Tom managed to get the rest of the buttons undone and pushed the shirt off of Harry's shoulders to pool at his wrists. His hands desperately reached out to trail along the newly uncovered skin, sending small shockwaves from the point of contact straight down to Harry's half-hard cock.

Tom ducked his head low, his lips brushing just over the skin of Harry's neck as his hands finally chose to settle down on Harry's hips. He pressed their bodies flush against one another, and Harry released a quiet moan.

Tom chuckled, his breath hot against Harry's skin.

"What's the matter?" he teased, rolling his hips again—slowly and leisurely. "Kneazle got your tongue?"

He was making Harry all too aware of the way his own body felt; burning anywhere Tom's skin touched his, weak in the knees, head spinning, heart pounding.

"N-no," Harry managed to say in a moment when Tom paused long enough to let him think. "I just—"

"Need a moment?" Tom finished, stepping back. His eyes raked over Harry slowly, a hungry look reflecting in them. Slowly, purposefully, his tongue darted out from between his lips and traced the shape of them.

Harry nearly swooned.

Tom smirked.

"I'll get us something to drink," he said, his gaze appreciatively flicking over Harry once more. "I'll only be gone a moment."

He brushed past Harry quickly enough that his scent lingered a moment later; all earthy tones, a little bit of the cologne Tom liked to wear, mixed with the faintest trace of arousal. Harry inhaled the scent slowly, basking in the way it made him feel dizzier than he had already.

He was content to remain leaning up against the wall for a few minutes, just long enough for his mind to feel more clear than it had.

As soon as he could move without feeling like he was going to sink down to the floor the moment he did, Harry slowly walked over to Tom’s bed and sat down, his mind reeling.

He and Tom were engaged.

Of all the things that had happened so far that night, the knowledge that he was going to be getting married stunned him the most. Tom had never hinted that he wanted to make their relationship more permanent. It was Hermione's encouragement that had pushed him to the decision to propose.

_And now..._ Harry swallowed as he looked at the bed.   _Another first._

He and Tom had fooled around plenty of times over the course of their relationship, had spent countless nights lazily making out that usually lasted until one of them were too tired to go on. They'd never done anything _truly_ intimate; Tom's upbringing around the Catholic church had seen to that.

Tom had once stated that he wasn't all that interested in sex anyway and Harry was content to let it be.

The nights where they would lay together and just be near one another had always been good enough. The long nights when there was a close call on an assignment for Harry, the rainy nights when the mood was just right, the random moments when Tom felt vulnerable enough to want the closeness of Harry's company.

It appeared, tonight, that would change.

Harry took a deep breath and released it slowly, his mind shifting its focus to the few options he had.

It would be easy for him to brush off whatever had just happened as a fluke, to change into his nightclothes and get on with the usual nighttime routine.

Tom had yet to return from "getting drinks" as he had phrased it, so who was to say he hadn't just left to give them both a chance to calm down?

But even if that _were_ the case... he wasn't so sure that he wanted a few stolen kisses to be the end of it. Besides, Tom did look eager after he broke off the kiss.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, biting his lip. His mind made up, he stood and was pleased to find that he no longer felt as shaky as he had just minutes earlier.

“I’ll only be gone a moment,” he mocked under his breath, striding across the room to Tom’s wardrobe. “I’ll _show_ you a moment.”

If he was going to have any chance of convincing Tom to finish what he’d started, Harry would have to do something that would shock him into being impulsive enough to kiss him again. As he ran a finger over the various garments hanging in the wardrobe, Harry couldn’t help but smirk. He’d never been bold enough to wear Tom’s clothes before…

…But now was as good a time to start as any.

Without a second’s hesitation, Harry peeled off his shirt, the buttons on the sleeves taking a minute to undo. The shirt fell to floor after a short struggle in which Harry almost ripped the shirt sleeves in his quiet frustration, then he paused.

Trousers or no?

He contemplated for a moment. While he’d always had the thought that Tom would want to undress Harry himself if they ever did something like this, there was every chance that it would only be a hindrance.

Harry made quick work of removing his trousers and socks (because in no way _ever_ could socks be considered sexy), then he grabbed a dark green silk shirt from the wardrobe and pulled it on.

Tom’s frame was different enough that the shirt easily went down past his thighs, something Harry could appreciate for the occasion. He fastened the sleeves so they looked a little neater, and started working on the buttons.

If everything went according to plan, Tom would come in and—

“Harry. What are you doing?”

Harry froze, his eyes widening as Tom’s voice came from behind him. He didn’t dare turn around to face him, even if Tom sounded amused.

The second thing he’d learned a long time ago when it came to Tom was that looks could be deceiving. The same was true for tones.

“Er—” he began awkwardly, not sure how to explain himself.

“Playing dress-up, hmm?”

Harry flinched. “Not necessarily.”

“Mmm. Somehow—” a small _whoosh_ of air was the only warning Harry got before Tom was pressed up against him; his arms circled around, his hands settling under the shirt, on Harry’s inner thighs. “—I find that a little hard to believe,” Tom finished, and the way his breath felt on Harry’s ear sent a shiver down his spine.

Harry unconsciously leaned into Tom, a small sigh escaping his lips when Tom’s lips met his neck and his hands gripped him a little tighter. “I wanted…”

“You wanted?” Tom prompted when Harry’s voice caught in his throat.

Slowly, deliberately, he trailed one of his hands upward to rest against Harry’s hip, his fingers brushing close to Harry’s groin. When Harry inhaled sharply, he continued. “Wanted to surprise me, perhaps? To _please_ me, even?”

"Shut it." Harry’s cheeks flushed. He tried to escape Tom's grasp, only to be held more firmly than before.

Tom shifted his hips to fit better against Harry’s arse, and _oh,_ Tom was fully aroused again, and _this was going to happen._

"I _like_ it," Tom crooned in his ear, trailing his hands up to Harry's chest, taking the shirt up with it. "Seeing you wearing my shirt only makes me want to tear it off of you all the more. Shame you had to pick my favorite one."

"You wouldn't ruin a shirt," Harry murmured, reaching up to fumble with the buttons. Despite his certainty, he didn't want to make Tom do something he would be upset by the next morning.

"Leave it on," Tom said huskily, digging his nails into Harry's skin. "Wouldn't want all of your efforts to go to _waste_ now, would we?"

He grasped one of Harry's hands in his own and stepped back, turning Harry in one move to face him at last.

Tom's eyes were dark in their arousal, and his expression was one of a predator that was staring down its prey. It was thrilling, in both a terrifying and irrevocably seductive way.

"Bed, " Tom ordered, his tone soft. “Now.”

Harry swallowed thickly and nodded, unable to take his eyes from Tom's for even a moment.

The way they moved was like a dance. Tom would push gently on Harry’s chest and he would take a shaky step backward, steadied only by the weight of Tom’s hand in his own. The world narrowed down to just them; there was only Tom’s eyes and his smile, only the rapid beating of Harry’s heart until there was _more,_ until there was the cool sheets of the bed against Harry’s too-hot skin, until Tom’s lips were on his own and Tom’s hands were deftly undoing the buttons of Harry’s shirt.

“You’re gorgeous,” Tom breathed when he finally pulled away to admire Harry. There was a light flush to his cheeks, and if Harry looked closely, he could see the dilation in Tom’s pupils.

“And you’re wearing too much,” Harry said, reaching up to clumsily fumble with Tom’s shirt, mentally cursing the fact that Tom preferred to wear button-ups, even if he _did_ look good in them.

He gave up not a minute later when he decided the process was taking entirely too long, and Tom chuckled and took over himself. He wasted no time in taking off his shirt, his fingers flying so quickly over the buttons that Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if he was using magic to do it.

When Tom tossed the shirt somewhere off to the side and one of his hands moved down from Harry’s chest to the edge of his pants, Harry found any and all coherent thought fly from his mind.

Tom paused and looked at Harry, the unspoken question hanging in the air between them. When Harry tilted his head to the side curiously, Tom voiced it.

“There won’t be any going back from this,” he warned, his fingers curling decisively in the waistband of Harry’s pants. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Harry swallowed, before nodding his head. When Tom made no move other than to shake his head slowly at him, Harry spoke. “Yes,” he said, his voice quieter than he would have liked.

With a satisfied nod, Tom rid Harry of his pants in a single motion that Harry didn’t think he’d ever be able to do with such finesse if he tried. For a good several moments, Tom looked at him, and the longer it went on without Tom saying or doing much of _anything_ , the more nervous and embarrassed Harry became.

“Well?” he finally managed to say weakly, resisting the urge to cover his face with both his hands. “D-don’t just _sit_ there—”

“You’re perfect,” Tom interrupted.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he settled a hand lightly on Harry’s chest, the other curling in around his inner thigh. The thrill Harry got from realizing that this was the very same place his hands rested earlier made him sigh in both contentment and pure, unadulterated _want._

“The sounds you make for me are so beautiful Harry,” Tom crooned.

His fingers lightly trailed over Harry’s skin, touching everywhere but where Harry wanted him to. Harry shifted his hips impatiently, his expression conveying the desire for Tom that he would never dare to voice aloud. Finally, _finally_ Tom’s hand palmed lightly over Harry’s cock, and when Harry inhaled sharply, Tom smirked.

“Look at _you,”_ Tom taunted lightly, swirling his thumb teasingly over the head. “So eager for me, and we’ve barely even _begun.”_

He wrapped his hand loosely around Harry’s erection, and stroked. There was no lubrication except for the wetness that had already gathered there, but Harry found that that was _okay,_ it was _fine_ if Tom continued touching him in that manner, if he moved his hand _just so._

"What do you want, Harry?" Tom murmured, a wicked smirk curling on his lips.

He looked at Harry through hooded eyes that only seemed to grow darker as he trailed a hand down Harry's side to his hip where it curled. The hand around his cock never ceased its movements, alternating between slow, smooth caresses and faster tugs that brought him to the edge before Tom would once more slow his pace.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but a shaky exhale came out in lieu of words. He thrust his hips upwards in a silent beg for _moreharderfaster,_ but that only made Tom stop completely and Harry made a noise that definitely _wasn't_ a whimper, only because he refused to call it that.

Tom laughed quietly and kissed Harry until his head spun and he had to close his eyes, and it wasn't _fair_ that he was falling apart under Tom's touch when Tom himself was so composed.

"Oh Harry," Tom whispered, and even though Harry couldn't see him, he could feel the way Tom smiled, could imagine what the expression on his face looked like. Tom shifted and moved and took his hand off of Harry's cock, and then his presence was gone entirely.

This time Harry _did_ whimper, only for the sound to turn into a choked cry when Tom lips suddenly wrapped around Harry's cock and his hands latched onto Harry's hips and positioned them so he could get a better angle. Harry's own hands tangled in the sheets below him as he fought to keep his hips still as Tom worked him slowly further into his mouth, pulling back every so often only to take him deeper until there was no further he could go.

“T-Tom,” Harry gasped and his eyes shot open; the subtle tightening of Tom’s hands was the only thing that kept him from moving.

Tom hummed around him as he slowly pulled back and swirled his tongue around the tip of his cock, and Harry _keened_ at the vibrating sensation. Tom’s nails dug slightly into his skin in response. They unfurled a moment later as Tom pressed his tongue up against the underside of Harry’s cock and sucked, his cheeks hollowing.

Harry didn’t even try to hush the gasps and whimpers that escaped him as Tom bobbed his head up and down at a tortuously slow pace, so far gone was he to the wet heat of Tom’s mouth, the pressure that built up inside of him, until he wasn’t sure he could take much more. He reached up and threaded his hands through Tom’s hair, his fingers tangling in the silken strands and holding on, as if Tom were a lifeline.

It was almost strange to think about how _Tom_ was going down on _Harry,_ and not the other way around, what with how domineering  Tom tended to be with just about every other aspect of their relationship. Every time Harry had fantasized about something like this happening, _he_ would be the one at the foot of the bed, pleasuring Tom as he’d fuck into Harry’s mouth, hard and fast, and-

Harry was _not_ going to last if he allowed that thought to take its natural course.

“T-Tom,” he whimpered, momentarily closing his eyes and finally giving into the urge to move his hips as the pressure in his abdomen reached levels he hadn’t thought possible. _“Tom,_ I-I’m going to-”

In a single moment, it was all over as Tom pulled off of him, his lips curling into a self satisfied smirk. “You’re not,” he murmured in reply. “Not yet.”

With all the grace that only Tom could ever possess, he got off the bed and finished stripping, ridding himself of his trousers and pants in one movement. Harry propped himself up on his elbows and watched unashamedly. His hungry eyes took in every inch of pale skin that was revealed; paying special attention to Tom’s cock, which stood erect against a nest of dark curls.

He was beautiful.

There was very little time for Harry to take him in though, once he moved back toward the bed. It seemed to take forever for Tom to finally reach Harry once more, to grasp his chin in one hand and tilt his head upward until their lips met.

Tom kissed him slowly as he shifted to lay over Harry, the action almost uncharacteristically tender and filled with a million emotions Harry would never be able to name if he tried.

“You know,” Tom began breathlessly when he finally had to pull away for air, “you never answered my question earlier.”

Harry gave him a lazy smile and ignored the statement, leaning up to press another small kiss on his mouth. “I can’t remember what you asked,” he whispered against Tom’s skin, slowly trailing his lips down Tom’s jawline to his neck. “But maybe you can make me.”

He scraped his teeth over Tom’s skin teasingly, bit down lightly as he reached a hand upward to lay over Tom’s chest and for a moment he was rendered breathless himself at what precious little that small action revealed. For once it was _Tom’s_ heart that was beating a million miles a minute, _Tom_ who was flustered by Harry’s careful ministrations.

The moment was gone before Harry could truly process just how he was supposed to feel about it, stolen away by Tom pressing him to the bed and letting his impulsive emotions take charge once more.

What little of Harry’s arousal that had faded away when Tom had taken his lips off of him came back full force and flared, the moment Tom pushed his hips against Harry’s purposefully, the moment their lips connected once more.

Tom was Harry’s own personal world ender, both the fire and the flood that wrecked every part of him until he knew nothing but the burning heat of skin on skin, felt nothing but the tangle of emotions that was lust and love and ecstasy all rolled into one.

Harry was distracted enough by the way Tom was kissing him, all tongue and raw, fiery passion, that he almost didn't realize it when a finger that was slicked with lube circled around his entrance. Harry splayed his hands across Tom's shoulder blades and pulled him impossibly closer, his heart beating rapidly in anticipation. Tom's hard cock was pressed up against his, and every slide of their hips together brought Harry closer to an edge that he wasn't sure he would ever be allowed to reach.

Slowly, the finger pressed up into Harry and he gasped at the sensation. It felt strange, not bad but not good either. In a word, it was new, and in another, somehow still arousing enough that Harry found himself wondering what _else_ Tom could introduce him to.

Tom got to work on stretching Harry's entrance, carefully moving his finger in and out of him and making small circular motions. It wasn't long before a second finger joined the first and Tom's motions grew more deliberate. Harry clung to Tom almost desperately; his face buried in Tom's neck and a leg hooked loosely around Tom's waist. A third finger eventually joined the other two, twisting and scissoring and when Tom thrust his fingers _up,_ they hit something inside of Harry that made him cry out in ecstasy.

"That's it," Tom crooned huskily, running a hand over Harry's cheek tenderly. "Tell me what you want, Harry." His words were accentuated with another sharp thrust that made Harry see stars and he choked out a strangled sob in response.

_"Y-you,"_ Harry finally managed to say, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment when his voice came out in little more than a whimper.

_"Yes,"_ Tom said, and his voice came out in a low hiss. He pulled his fingers out , and Harry let out a small whine at the loss. He pushed his hips against Tom's, determined to derive his pleasure from _somewhere_ at least.

"Patience Harry," Tom chided, his hand grasping Harry's leg and pushing it up. The hand that had been resting on Harry's cheek moved to grasp his hair and he _pulled,_ leaning over Harry so they were face to face as Tom lined himself up with Harry's entrance. "All good things come to those who _wait."_ With that, he pushed into Harry in a single move that made Tom groan and left Harry breathless.

Despite how long Tom had spent preparing Harry, the stretch of his cock inside of Harry still burned a little, and at first the sensation was anything _but_ pleasant. Neither of them moved at first so Harry could adjust to the stretch and when Harry finally moved his hips experimentally, he let out a small gasp at the warmth that seemed to fill him.

On a whim, Harry looked up at Tom to gauge his own reaction, and found an expression that was filled with lust and something more, eyes that were half shut and nearly glazed over from sheer pleasure. Tom was biting down on his lip, and his nostrils flared with every deep breath he took.

Finally Tom moved, pulling out just a little before pushing back in. While it still didn't feel _great_ by any means, it lessened the stinging sensation enough that it sent a small spark through Harry.

"This good?" Tom's voice was low, sensual.

It sent another thrill through Harry and he nodded, digging his nails slightly into Tom's back. "More," Harry breathed out before he could think about what he was requesting.

It was as if something within Tom snapped in that moment, and he seemed to lose all sense of control as he pulled almost completely out of Harry before pushing back in, repeating the motion again and again.

They moved like the ocean, pushing and pulling one another deeper into the throes of blissful oblivion until there was nothing left but the sound of the soft noises that slipped from Harry's lips with each thrust, nothing but Tom's harsh breathing and the murmurs of Harry's name that might not have been entirely English, nothing but the white hot heat that blazed through Harry until it finally peaked and he came with a loud, sharp cry, his eyes fluttering closed as color bloomed beneath them.

Almost at once, Tom stopped moving, his hips slowing and stilling. For a good minute he just stayed there, buried within Harry, and watched the way Harry’s chest moved up and down as he gasped for breath.

“You’re beautiful,” Tom murmured, and his voice was filled with raw emotion. Harry couldn’t quite tell what it was though, couldn’t quite make out the same obscure feeling that reflected in Tom’s eyes.

“Mmm,” Harry hummed, nodding slowly as lethargy settled in. He would have been quite content to fall asleep then, but the knowledge that Tom was still inside of Harry, still hard, gave him pause. “You haven’t-” he began, only for Tom to cut him off.

“I’ll be fine Harry,” he said, shifting and leaning forward to press his lips to Harry’s in a chaste kiss. When he drew back, his wand rested in his hand.

Immediately, Harry knew something was wrong. In the moment that Ton drew himself back up, his entire demeanor shifted so much that it was almost like an entirely different person was before him.

“Tom?” he asked uncertainly, wiggling to prop himself up on his elbows. “Wha-”

“Don’t talk,” Tom commanded, giving his wand a single flick.

As if an invisible force had pushed against him, Harry found himself forcibly pinned down to the bed, unable to do anything but watch as Tom gave his wand a little twirl and smirked down at him. Harry tried not to let his mind linger on the dark aura he could feel coming from the wand, the way the sparks that shot from it were a deep, dark green that matched the shirt he still wore, that was just a hint darker than his eyes.

Unbidden, a chill ran down his spine.

“Oh _Harry,”_ Tom breathed, something almost manic flickering in his expression. “I’m not sure if I should be pleased or insulted that you never managed to figure it out.”

Something sank deep within Harry at his words, twisted in his gut. “What’re…” He took a deep breath to steady both his words and his thoughts. “What’re you talking about?”

“Everywhere I went, I left small little clues for you to find,” Tom continued, as if he hadn’t heard from him. “Little pieces of myself that I thought might make the game a little more fun, might make you think of me. I thought for sure that you would have connected the dots before now.”

_What game?_ Harry wondered despairingly, even as something clicked in the back of his mind that maybe he _did_ know, but had repressed the thought to avoid thinking too much about it.

“I suppose I can’t blame you, though,” Tom crooned, his tone shifting to sound sickeningly adoring. “There was never enough proof, always too little evidence. I played the game a little _too_ well, don’t you think dear?”

Harry swallowed nervously. The more Tom went on, the more little nuances came to mind, little things he had always noticed about Tom but had brushed off as something else. There was always an excuse with Tom, always another explanation that came to mind.

“Tom,” Harry began, sounding far more confident than he actually felt. “Release me from whatever spell you cast, and explain exactly what you’re talking about.”

Tom tilted his head, his expression shifting with understanding. “You know now though, don’t you?” he asked, giving his wand a flick.

The letters of his name appeared in the little space between them, _Tom Marvolo Riddle._ With another flick of his wand, the letters shifted, spelling out the truth that Harry didn’t ever think he’d see before him.

_I am Lord Voldemort._

“Of course,” Tom went on, dispelling the letters, “I tend to leave off the _Lord_ part of the title, it sounds far more pretentious than I actually am.”

"Why?" Harry blurted out, his thoughts beginning to race just as fast as his heart. Something inside of him had seized the moment Tom had drawn his wand, and the sick feeling he had in the pit of his stomach only continued to grow worse as the minutes passed.

"Why what?" Tom asked, and his voice grew almost unbearably soft. He reached out and laid a hand on Harry's cheek, an act that had never failed to soothe him in the past. "Don't tell me I've actually managed to surprise you. The signs were there the entire time; all you had to do was look."

Harry swallowed. "Why are you doing this? Any of this, Tom? You're not a killer."

Tom laughed, and the sound was so _different_ from what Harry had always known, this was more cold, the pitch was slightly higher. Another chill went down Harry's spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he wasn't wearing anything.

"I think I'll be the judge on if I'm a killer or not," Tom said, and he sounded _amused_ by the way Harry's eyes grew wide, the way his breathing stuttered. "It was easy enough after the first few times I did it. And you can't tell me they didn't deserve it Harry, because they were all criminals you were pursuing yourself."

"They didn't deserve to die!" Harry protested, attempting once more to struggle against the invisible bonds that held him. As a small part of him had known it would be, it was to no avail. "Their deaths weren't your choice to make, Tom!"

"Look at you," Tom mused, a smirk curling on his lips. "You discover I'm the serial killer you've been hunting for the past six months, and you're so smitten with me that all you can do is lay there and try to convince me that it's not right. Anyone else, and you would have taken them down by now."

_Anyone else wouldn't be clever enough to use wordless, obscure magic to bind me either, now would they?_ Harry thought, glaring up at Tom. _This is just me stalling for time until I can figure out what it is you cast._

"Now as for your other question..." Slowly he moved his hand down from Harry cheek to his chest, lingering for a moment on Harry's throat.

"Why am I doing this?" Tom murmured, echoing Harry's words. "You see Harry, I learned a long time ago that the world is far from perfect. It is made up of corruption and sin, and people are so used to it that they've stopped questioning why and simply accepted it as the way things are. It could be better, if they tried."

"And you think _killing_ is the answer to solving it?" Harry choked out, incredulous at the conclusion Tom had come to.

Tom hummed in consideration. “I didn’t, at first,” he said slowly. “Until I realized the truth myself. You see Harry, being with you, listening to the stories you tell, reading the news and hearing the gossip on the streets, it all taught me that the punishment rarely ever fits the crime. The Wizengamot’s hands have always been folded where the money is, after all. What I’m doing will change _everything.”_

“But the dementors-” Harry choked out.

“Are rarely ever used ever since that stint with your godfather and Pettigrew,” Tom interrupted. “Before all that, they were a good enough fate to keep the crime rates down to almost nothing. Now that they’ve been deemed inhumane and only administer the Kiss a couple of times a year, the threat of Azkaban means nothing.”

Harry bit his lip. Tom had a bit of a point, he knew; the crime rates in the wizarding world had increased sharply after the dementors had been removed from Azkaban, and nothing the aurors could think to do about it that the Wizengamot would actually vote on was helping any.

"That... it still isn't right," he finally managed, swallowing nervously. "Tom, do you have any idea what you've _done?"_

His eyes met Tom's, searching for a hint of the charming, kind person he knew Tom to be. Tom stared back at him, his gaze unyielding, _cold._ If Harry's words made him feel anything, it didn't show.

"I know better than you do, it would seem," he replied. "Riddle me this, Harry... what are you planning? What are you going to do, now that you know?"

"I..." Not for the first time that night, Harry was at a loss for words. What _could_ he do? He knew Tom better than anyone else, knew better than anyone the vast arsenal of spells Tom had at his command, and yet he _didn’t,_ if all it took to render him completely useless was a single flick of the wand.

_Stay calm,_ he reminded himself, taking a deep breath. _Showing Tom that you’re unsure of the situation isn’t going to do anything to help you._ **_Think._ ** _What would Draco have you do? What would he say?_

“You aren’t going to get away with this Tom,” Harry said, jutting his chin up slightly in the arrogant way Draco often did when he was talking to someone he considered to be beneath him. “After tonight, you’ll never be free again. You’ll either get the Kiss, or constantly be on the run, constantly hiding. If-” Here, Harry paused. There was no way he could outright offer Tom immunity, but he had to pick his words carefully to ensure the best outcome. “If you let me go, though, and turn yourself in peacefully, I can help you. Your sentence can be lowered, it won’t have to come to the dementors.”

“Oh no,” Tom whispered, and he sounded almost delighted with the rejection. Slowly, his fingers trailed over Harry’s ribs, tracing the shape of them. He leaned in close enough for Harry to go cross-eyed, close enough for their lips to almost brush. “After tonight, the entirety of the wizarding world will know _exactly_ who Voldemort is. I wouldn’t have it any other way, my love.”

Finally, Tom's hand settled to a stop just over Harry's heart and he seemed to still for a moment, his eyes closing and his expression becoming almost blissful. “It’s almost a shame that we’ll never see eye to eye on this,” he murmured, his voice hushed in the deafening silence of the room.  "I once thought that I could convince you to be mine, you know. If you weren't so settled on society's definition of wrong and right, you could have seen my side of things, joined me even."

“I would _never_ join you,” Harry said lowly, pushing against the invisible bonds again. They hadn’t become more pliant since Tom had cast the wordless spell, not that Harry had been optimistic that they would at all.

“I know,” Tom told him, and the smile he gave Harry was almost sad. “And that’s why I have to kill you.”

“You really don’t,” Harry said, his heart beginning to race. “You could do literally almost anything else, you could- you could _Obliviate_ me or something, we could-”

Tom chuckled. “You’re weak,” he said softly. “Deep down on the inside, you’re just like the others. You’ll cling to what you believe in until the moment you’re faced with death, and then, _only then,_ are you prepared to give it all up in the desperate hope of being allowed to live.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to-” Harry began, but Tom interrupted again.

“I’m a master of the mind Harry, or did you forget?” Tom asked, quirking an eyebrow in question. “You were going to insist that you would keep my secret, let me leave here tonight and never be found. A lie. I know you better than that.”

Harry flushed. Tom was right, and they both knew it. While his ability to lie had gotten better throughout the years, Tom was the one person that had always been able to see right through him.

“I’ll put my signature here,” Tom went on, stroking over Harry’s heart. “It’s symbolic, you see? Your love is your undoing tonight.” He moved his wand in an odd little half flick-twirl thing and the tip lit, a bright green color that hurt Harry's eyes to look at. _“Morsmordre.”_

Pain, blinding white-hot heat flared under the tip of Tom’s wand as it touched Harry’s skin. It felt like Harry's flesh was being ripped apart and set on fire all at once, like he was being hit with lightning except it never ended. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt before in his life, so much worse than even the worst of the _Cruciatus._ As he writhed in agony, his spine arched into the pain at an almost unnatural angle.

Harry’s eyes were closed but darkness, _true_ stygian blackness encroached on his vision. He could faintly hear the sound of someone screaming, a high pitched, strangled sound that was almost inhumane in nature. Even as it registered in the back of his mind that it was him, he tried to recall his teachings from auror training.

_“Pain is just an illusory sensation that the mind can shut down if it has to,”_ they had lectured, but in those moments Harry had the thought that none of them had ever felt anything _near_ what he was.

Finally, just when the pain was at its worst, just when Harry thought he couldn’t take any more of it, it suddenly ebbed and dulled into a slow burn. He collapsed back onto the bed and for what felt like a few minutes just laid there, his chest heaving. He didn’t dare open his eyes yet; the heartbreaking knowledge that it was _Tom_ that had done this to him gave him pause.

“You’ve done so well Harry,” came Tom’s soft voice, and then something soft brushed gently over the wound. The touch was featherlight, but Harry’s skin still tingled uncomfortably and throbbed at the contact. “So good for me, so pliant.”

“F…fuck you, Tom,” Harry breathed out, his voice barely a whisper. He opened his eyes just slightly to glare, but even that action was weak. In the aftermath of the curse Tom had cast, small tremors still occasionally wracked through his body, and Harry felt more defeated than ever before. “If… you’re g-going to k-kill me, just…do it already.”

“I believe I was the one that did the fucking, darling,” Tom informed him, shifting and pulling out of Harry at long last. The sudden loss was startling; Harry had adjusted enough to the feeling of Tom that he’d forgotten that he’d been sheathed inside of Harry the entire time he’d been marking him.

His expression growing softer, Tom reached out and laid a hand on Harry’s cheek once more, his thumb gently stroking over the skin. “I love you Harry,” he murmured. “And for that, your death will be merciful. Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”

Harry bit his lip and though he willed himself not to cry, he could feel his eyes growing watery anyway. Tom’s thumb brushed one of the tears away and then he moved, getting up from the bed with a natural grace that only he could ever possess.

“I want you to close your eyes, Harry,” Tom instructed quietly. His features grew more considering as he seemed to study Harry, tilting his head slightly. “You will look more beautiful in death. For everything you have given me, I want nothing less.”

This was the end, Harry realized numbly as he nodded to show Tom he understood. For everything he _should_ have felt- the betrayal, the humiliation, the _fear-_ he didn’t. There was only a muted relief, an odd sensation of something akin to peace that couldn’t have possibly been real.

Tom dipped his head slightly and raised his wand. “Eyes closed,” he reminded him, and with a deep breath, Harry complied.

_"Avada Kedavra."_


End file.
